Dining Out
by Elf Eye
Summary: Part of "The Nameless One" series. Takes place soon after Anomen's arrival in Rivendell.


**Heavy angst alert: Anomen's behavior in this chapter is very woeful and even pathetic, for it reveals how unwanted he has felt.  Parts of the story are funny, but it is definitely a humor tempered with bathos.**

**The people have spoken.  Today's tale is an elfling one and supersedes "Appearances and Disappearances" (I need a better title for that one!) as the first tale set after Anomen's arrival in Rivendell.  In it (1) Elrond is provided with motivation for harboring Anomen, (2) Anomen and Glorfindel get off on the wrong foot, and (3) the infamous trellis is introduced.  It's a one-shot tale, but the chapter is relatively long, so I hope elfling fans will not feel cheated.  Next I am going to try to write a tale that involves both Thranduil and an angsty adolescent Legolas.  I will write a Glorfindel tale after that, and by the time I've finished that one, perhaps I'll have the nerve to begin a tale set during LOTR.  Of course, this is not set in stone; a plot bunny could hop into my garden of verses and upset everything! **

_Bast__: You really think the twins are that mean?  I tried to make them come across as mischievous, but I don't want them to seem malicious.  Weren't they nice to Anomen when Elrond left him in their care when the adults went off to argue?  And doesn't Anomen sometimes 'give as good as he gets'?_

_Joee__: I'll try to work that scene in, although it won't be in today's story.  It would be a hilarious episode, particularly if the twins get in on the conversation._

_MoroTheWolfGod__: I think I'll try to create a future story in which Anomen actually rescues Glorfindel from some sort of peril.  That would surely change the dynamics between the two characters._

_Lurker: _Well, I don't think I should have too much trouble fulfilling your request!  ^_^

_Morrigan__: Ouch!  But you are correct, of course, about the ending to "The Nameless One."  I've tried to counter that by showing in tales such as "Dol Guldur" how much Legolas still desperately desires his father's love and approval, but I've still got a ways to go.  I plan on a story in which Legolas finally meets up with his cousin Tawarmaenas, who was introduced in Dol Guldur and who will convey to Legolas how much his father does miss him and does regret his previous behavior.  Hopefully that will set a more adequate stage for a reunion than the original version.  How does that sound to you?_

_Dark Angel: _I think I'll eventually work up the nerve for some such story.

_Dragonfly: _The story after this will indeed weave in Thranduil's POV, plus it will have Anomen—but as an angsty adolescent, I am afraid, because it will be set later than "Dol Guldur," at the very least.

_Konzen__: You will get both your wishes in the tale after this one: Thranduil's POV plus angsty adolescent Legolas._

_Jebb__: Well, as in the case of __Lurker, I don't think I should have too much trouble satisfying your request!  ^_^_

_Farflung__: Glad you liked the 'nekkid elfling' (and remember he was also nekkid when he got stuck in the badger burrow!).  I'm relieved that the 'hall-loose-in-nation' corresponded to a real experience in your life.  In my case, once when I was feverish the bed did seem to rise from the floor and turn upside down, and I found myself clutching the blankets because I feared that I would tumble out.  (When I asked my mother what that meant, she, "It means it's time for more aspirin"—this was back in the days when children were still given 'baby aspirin', which should give you an idea as to my age.)  I think on some level Anomen _is_ calling for his father, although not consciously.  Yes, Erestor did inject some tension and conflict into the situation, bless his pedantic heart.  The story after this one will include Thranduil's point of view, although probably not the specific elements you suggest.  I may use those elements in a future story, however, as they are very interesting suggestions._

_Autore__: The story after this will indeed feature Thranduil's POV, and probably will include all the elements you mention: angst/guilt/loneliness.  It will not show the reestablishment of bonds between Thranduil and Legolas, but it will set the stage for their reunion, which at the moment is covered only very quickly and superficially at the end of "The Nameless One."_

_Ky_: _Today's story is an elfling one, and the next one will include Thranduil.  He will not be coming anywhere near Rivendell, nor will Glorfindel be journeying to Greenwood, so there will not be any interaction between those two Elves.  However, that would be an interesting angle for a future story._

_Symian__: No reunion will take place in the story after this one, but the stage will be set for the reunion._

_dd9736:  _As I was saying to MoroTheWolfGod, I may create a future story in which Anomen rescues Glorfindel from some sort of peril because that would definitely change the dynamics between the two characters.

_Karri: _Today's tale is an elfling one.  It is a one shot, but the chapter is a fairly substantial one.

Vocabulary

Manwë—'Blessed One' (The chief of the Valar, roughly equivalent to Zeus in the Greek pantheon or Thor in the Norse one.)

            It was nearly dawn, and Mithrandir would be leaving at the break of day.  Moving quietly, so as not to awaken Elladan and Elrohir, Anomen arose.  Mithrandir had bade him farewell the night before, but Anomen wanted to see him off nonetheless.  It might be months before the wizard returned, and the Istar was very dear to the elfling.  He pulled on tunic, leggings, and boots and slipped from the room and down the stairs, making for the entrance to the Hall.

            "You there!" someone called as he neared the door.  "What are you doing up and about?"

            It was the Door Warden.

            "I'm just going out to bid Mithrandir farewell."

            "Yes, Master Mithrandir has passed this way just now, but no one told me that an elfling was to be allowed to leave the Hall at this time.  You surely have neither Lord Elrond's nor Lord Glorfindel's permission, for I would have been notified when I came on duty.  So back to your room with you!"

            Disappointed, Anomen retreated to the chamber he now shared with the twins.  He was much too wide awake to go back to sleep, so he went to the window to look out.  Perhaps he could at least catch sight of the departing wizard.  The elfling rested his elbows on the sill and leaned forward to gaze about in all directions; as he did so, he noticed that a trellis rested against the wall directly underneath the window.  He glanced back at Elladan and Elrohir.  Both seemed to be deep in elven dreams.  Silently, Anomen slipped over the sill and quickly scrambled down the trellis.  Then he ran off in search of Mithrandir, careful to keep to the cover of bushes, trees, and statues.  He caught up with the wizard just as the Istar reached the outer gate.

            "Mithrandir!"

            Smiling, the wizard turned around.  He did not appear surprised in the least at seeing the elfling.

"Well, well, have you come to bid this old wizard farewell one last time?"

"Yes, Mithrandir.  I will miss you very, very much, and I don't know what I shall do with you gone!"

"Oh, I am sure Elladan and Elrohir will keep you occupied—not to mention Erestor with his lessons, and Glorfindel with his weapons training.  Now remember what I have told you," said the wizard, kneeling down and taking the elfling by the shoulders.  "Elrond shall be like a father to you.  Treat him like your father.  Be sure that he will treat you like his son.  If you wish, you may even call him 'Adar' or 'Ada'."

'Adar' or 'Ada'.  Anomen did not think he could wrap his mouth around those words, so long it had been since he had uttered either.  But he said nothing of that.

"I shall remember, Mithrandir.  The Lord Elrond will treat me like a son, and I shall behave toward him as if he were my father."

"Good! Good!"  Mithrandir arose and smiled down at the elfling.  "You will be happy here, I am sure."

With that, the wizard stepped through the gate and was gone.

After the wizard had left, Anomen sighed.  So the Lord Elrond was going to treat him as his father had.  That wouldn't be so bad.  It wouldn't be too very painful if he received no attention, let alone any affection, from the Lord Elrond because he looked for none from the elf-lord.  But it had always hurt when Thranduil had ignored or, worse, belittled him.  He had never given up hoping that his father would grow to love him—or at least dislike him a little less!—until the awful day he had learned that Thranduil had never bothered to give him a name.  Well, he was safe, anyway, and free of the daily slights that he had suffered in Greenwood.  He would make do somehow.

The first order of business was to go about finding food.  When Anomen had been brought to Thranduil's Great Hall, at first he had been expected to eat each meal at the King's table.  However, as time passed, the King became increasingly uncomfortable at having him in attendance.  Anomen, sensing his father's discomfort, was no happier.  The elfling took it upon himself not to appear for a meal one day.  Nothing was ever said about his absence.  He failed to show up for another meal.  Again, nothing was said.  Before too long, the elfling had ceased going into the dining hall altogether.  It became his custom to show up at the kitchen in the morning just as the dishes were returned from the dining hall, for there were always plenty of leftovers.  He would eat breakfast then and try to wrap up enough bread, cheese, and fruit for the remainder of the day, for he would generally try to flee the Hall after he had done enough work to satisfy his tutor.  If at all possible, he would not return to the Hall until nightfall.  On the occasions when he had failed to take away enough food for the day, he satisfied himself by foraging through the woods for such berries, leaves, nuts, and mushrooms as he knew to be edible. 

 It is true that here in Rivendell for the last several weeks he had been eating at Elrond's table, but it was Mithrandir who had always come to fetch him, and Anomen assumed that it was because of the wizard that he was welcomed at the table.  With Mithrandir gone, surely he would no longer be wanted in the dining hall.  So it was off to the kitchen to reconnoiter.  True, it was too early for any plates to be coming back from the dining hall, but Anomen was very hungry—he had eaten little last night because he had been thinking with sorrow about Mithrandir's forthcoming departure.  Anyway, in spite of the early hour, no doubt no one would object if he helped himself to something.  There was never any lack of food in the dining hall, after all.

Anomen had always been welcome in the kitchen at the Great Hall, although no servant ever told him so.  Instead, there was an unspoken agreement amongst the cooks and the skivvies to look the other way whenever the prince slipped in looking for something to eat.  On one occasion Anomen had been delayed getting to the kitchen.  Thranduil had come striding down a hall as Anomen approached the kitchen, and Anomen had slipped into an alcove to evade him.  As luck would have it, Thranduil had been hailed by his seneschal, Gilglîr, and the two had stopped to talk directly in front of the elfling's hiding place.  Anomen was sure that everything would have been put away by the time he reached the kitchen.  It is true that the kitchen had been tidied up, but a plate, generously filled, lay waiting for him on a table, and beside it was a bundle of bread, cheese, and fruit for later.  It was then that Anomen realized that the kitchen staff knew what he was about and had no objection.  

Anomen assumed that the kitchen staff in Rivendell would be equally forbearing.  Ai! He had not yet made the acquaintance of the Head Cook!  After suffering for decades from the depredations of Elladan and Elrohir, this formidable personage did not look kindly upon any elfling who arrived to pillage—as he saw it—his domain.  When this worthy saw Anomen slip into the kitchen and make for the warm loaves of bread just turned out of their pans, he seized a ladle and advanced on the unfortunate elfling.

"Here now, you scalawag!" he roared.  "Just you be off—no bread for you!"

Anomen scampered out the door as fast as his elfling feet would carry him—which was very fast indeed.  He headed for the safety of the garden, and once he reached it, he sat back on his heels and considered what to do.  Obviously, he had made a big mistake in going to the kitchen _before breakfast had been served and the plates and platters returned from the dining hall.  He would simply have to wait.  But he was so very hungry!  Just then he spied a servant leaving the kitchen and heading toward the Hall.  Where was the servant taking that tray?  Anomen left his hiding place and made for the Hall, running past the astonished Door Warden, who clearly remembered him trying to get _out _of the Hall that morning and now saw him returning without, apparently, ever having left!_

Anomen followed the servant surreptitiously until the Elf paused to knock upon a door.  When the servant did so, a deep voice said, "Just leave the tray outside, if you please."

Glorfindel was planning to depart early that morning to go on an inspection of several encampments.  He had asked that breakfast be delivered to his chamber so that he would not be delayed by the formalities of a meal with the Lord of Imladris.  However, he was still dressed in his natal garment when the servant arrived with the tray—thus his request that his breakfast be left in the hall.

After the servant had departed, Anomen crept toward the tray.  Piled upon it was much more food than any one Elf could ever hope to eat.  A slice of bread would not be missed.  That would hold him until he could obtain more plentiful pickings in the kitchen.  He reached the tray and crouched beside it.  Mmmm, that slice, and a wedge of cheese wouldn't be missed either—nor that dish of berries.  He arose, hands filled with bread, cheese, and bowl, and the door swung open, revealing a Glorfindel who had quickly pulled on a robe.

"What are you doing!?" the elf-lord roared.

Anomen yelped and dropped his ill-gotten breakfast, the bowl unfortunately shattering as it hit the tray so that all the remaining food was peppered with glass shards rather than with any condiment Glorfindel might have preferred.  Then, for the second time that morning, Anomen took to his heels, this time with a balrog-slayer in pursuit.  Fortunately for Anomen, the elf-lord's robe was rather short and he had only run a few yards when he realized that it was revealing rather more of 'Glorfindel' than was consistent with the maintenance of decorum and dignity.  Abashed, the balrog-slayer came to a halt and glanced about anxiously.  To his relief, no one was in sight, and he hastily retreated to his chamber.

As for Anomen, he raced back past the Door Warden, ducking the indignant guard's outstretched arm, and once again made for the garden.  Once there, he settled down to wait.  It was clear to him now that the only way to get a meal was to patiently wait until breakfast was over and the dishes had been returned to the kitchen.  He watched the kitchen door carefully.  There went a parade of servants bearing covered platters and bowls and plates toward the Hall.  In due time, the procession reversed course.  Surely no one would now object to his sharing in the meal.  He had waited his turn!  Confidently, Anomen arose from his hiding place and sauntered nonchalantly into the kitchen—to the utter astonishment and fury of the Head Cook, who had never seen such bald-faced effrontery in an elfling.  This time he grabbed a rolling pin and, shaking it violently, he stormed toward the unlucky Anomen.  For the third time that morning, Anomen found himself fleeing from an angry Elf.

By now Anomen was ravenously hungry.  He would have to slip past that Cook somehow—wait a minute!  The Cook was just now leaving the kitchen.  Anomen leaped to his feet and ran for the kitchen like one of the Mearas of old.  To his delight, the undercooks and skivvies looked at him with surprise but made no move to stop him.  Anomen headed toward a table upon which the leftover fruit had been placed.  Oh, no!  He heard the voice of the Head Cook.  Back so soon!?  Ai!

            Anomen looked about for a place to hide.  An unlit stove stood nearby, its door ajar.  He scrambled into it.  The door mechanism was simple to operate, and he pulled the door closed and latched it from the inside, and not a moment too soon.  This time the Head Cook was accompanied by an apprentice.

            "Now that the dough has risen sufficiently," intoned the Cook, "we will divide it and shape it into loaves for tonight's meal.  But first build a fire under that stove so that it will have reached the proper temperature for baking by the time we have finished putting the dough into the pans."

            Inside the thick walls of the cast-iron stove, Anomen could not hear this conversation, but a rattling and a banging alerted him to the fact that someone was near.  Soon the temperature inside the stove grew a little balmy, and shortly thereafter Anomen realized that he was literally 'in the hot seat'.  The stove kept growing warmer and warmer.  Soon, it was undeniably 'too hot for comfort'.  At last Anomen decided that he had no choice but to push up the metal bar that kept the oven door from swinging open, even though he was unsure of what was on the other side.  Ai! As he tumbled out of the oven, there stood the Head Cook!

            The Head Cook was too angry to speak or to move, which was a good thing for Anomen, for, his wits addled by the heat of the stove, his movements were a little slower than usual.  By the time the Head Cook had recovered his own wits, the half-baked elfling had managed to stagger to the door and disappear.

Now what to do?  Anomen had passed ravenous and was on his way to desperate.  Where in Rivendell besides the kitchen could an elfling find something to eat?  Anomen watched as a skivvy left the kitchen, went into a shed, and reappeared with a bag of flour, which he carried into the kitchen.  Ah!  A storage shed.  It would mainly be filled the raw ingredients for many dishes, but there would be some items that were edible upon the spot, such as cheese, fruit, perhaps smoked or dried or salted meat.  Anomen made for the shed and began to rummage about.  Flour.  Salt.  Sugar.  Raw eggs.  Pepper.  Ginger.  Cinnamon.  Rutabagas.  Turnips.  Cabbages.  Beets.  A nearly empty basket of potatoes.  

            Whilst Anomen was poking around in the storage shed, the Head Cook was planning the noon meal.  He was missing one ingredient and decided to send the apprentice to the shed to fetch it.

            "Bring me that basket of potatoes that is near empty.  I mean to finish that lot off today and start a new one."

            In the shed, Anomen heard someone coming.  He looked about frantically for a place to hide.  That basket of potatoes had been nearly empty.  He pulled off the top, climbed in, and pulled the cover over him.  The apprentice came in and went straight to the basket.

            "Ugh," grunted the Elf as he hoisted it and staggered under its weight.  "The master surely will not be able to use all of these potatoes.  But it's best to do what he says, as he has a temper like a Dwarf's."

            Bent under the heavy basket, the apprentice returned to his master.

            "Just dump those potatoes right there, and I'll set the elf-maidens to peeling them."

            The apprentice upended the basket and out rolled the potatoes—and Anomen, too, of course.

            "You again!" roared the Head Cook.  "In the potatoes now!  I'll serve you like a potatoe, I will!  I'll peel you!  I'll roast you!  Boil you!  Dip you in oil and fry you!  Aye, and mash you to boot!"

            The terrified elfling ran out of the kitchen, past the garden, and through the gate.  He did not stop until he was deep in the woods.  These Imladris Elves did not mean to share their food.  Well, he would show them!  He had become an excellent forager whilst in Greenwood.  Of course, now 'twas the wrong season for most plants, but even in the coldest times of  the year there was food to be found if one knew where to look.  And with great determination, Anomen set about doing just that.  Before he had gone too far in his search, he had the greatest of luck: he stumbled upon a sheltered dell with a southern exposure.  He found leaves and berries and nuts.  The leaves were a trifle dry and the berries likewise wrinkled, it was true, but they were still edible.  And best of all, Anomen found a few mushrooms!  None of these leaves, berries, nuts, and mushrooms were _exactly _like those in Greenwood—but they looked _very_ similar.  Anomen cheerfully munched and chewed his way through a goodly quantity of his pickings.  He wrapped the leftovers in leaves and put them in the front of his tunic for later, lest he have as much difficulty purloining his lunch and dinner as he had had pocketing breakfast.  Then he set about looking for a stream.  He was now _very thirsty._

            Strangely, no matter how much Anomen drank from the stream that he eventually found, he still felt thirsty.  His head began to ache.  He began to feel as warm as if he were in an oven.  His stomach began to roil.  Something was very wrong, and the elfling felt frightened.  He'd best return to Rivendell.

            By the time he had reached the Hall, he was retching and bent over double.  A very alarmed Door Warden scooped him up and ran through the corridors to Elrond's chamber.  He banged upon the door and hardly waited for Elrond to say 'Enter' before he burst in.

            "My Lord," he gasped, "I think this little elfling is very ill!"

            Anomen immediately proceeded to provide proof of that supposition.  The guard blenched and, having deposited Anomen upon a chair, hastily retreated to his post.

            "What did you eat?" demanded Elrond anxiously.  "Can you tell me?  Can you show me?"

            Anomen reached into his tunic and pulled out the remnants of his feast.  Elrond gathered up the various leaves, berries, nuts, and mushrooms and examined them.

            "Oh, no," he groaned, "we call this leaf 'tasty torment'—the tongue enjoys it, but the stomach likes it not.  And this berry, it is called 'delicious death', for one feels like 'death' after devouring its sweet flesh!  Ai! This mushroom is known by all hereabouts as 'Elf's bane'!  Anomen, what possessed you to eat such poison!?"

            "I was hungry," moaned Anomen.

            "Then why did you leave the Hall without first eating?"

            "I tried to," groaned Anomen, "but no would let me."

            "What!?" exclaimed Elrond in consternation.  "What do you mean—no one would let you eat!?  No—wait.  Let me attend to you first; afterward you may explain this matter."

            Poor Anomen had a miserable time of it, for Elrond found it necessary to purge him from both ends.  Of course, this was not the most pleasant day of Elrond's immortal life, either.  At last, however, the elfling began to revive.  As he sat propped up on some pillows, nibbling lembas and sipping from a flask of miruvor, Elrond asked him to explain what he meant when he said that no one would allow him to eat. 

            "First I went to the kitchen, but the cook shooed me away.  Then I saw a tray with a great deal of food on it, and I thought no one would mind if I ate only a slice of bread or two.  But Glorfindel, that golden haired Elf everyone calls the balrog-slayer, chased me away.  He shouted something dreadful.  And then I tried the kitchen on three other occasions, but the cook threatened me away each time.  And then I realized I would just have to shift for myself—but I do not know the plants hereabouts as I know those in Greenwood."

            Elrond was bewildered.  "Why did you not simply join us at my table when it came time for breakfast?"

            "I could have done that?"

            "Of course!"

            "No one told me," Anomen said plaintively.

            "I did not think it would be necessary to tell you.  Why did you think otherwise?"

            "Mithrandir said that you would be a father unto me for a little while.  I did not eat at my father's table.  I always got something from the kitchen or the forest."

            Elrond was appalled.  Whoever this elfling's father was, he had treated Anomen abominably.  It was no wonder Mithrandir had found the little fellow wandering alone in the woods of Imladris, for his father must not have troubled to keep track of the elfling's whereabouts.  He was very glad now that he had agreed to Mithrandir's request that he foster the elfling.

            "Anomen," Elrond said gently, "in every household there are different customs.  I will indeed always treat you like a father, but according to the customs of this household.  Here, my children eat with me, and so you shall as well.  Moreover, I suggest that you let Elladan and Elrohir be your guides as to what I expect of you as a son.  I hope," he added "you will not mind that I do not treat you as your father would have."

            "Oh, no," said Anomen, shaking his head vigorously.  "I will not mind in the least!"

            In a few days Anomen had recovered from his gastronomic misadventure and had settled into a routine that he shared with the twins of lessons with Erestor in the morning and weapons-training with Glorfindel in the afternoon.  The elfling tried very hard to behave himself, and he stayed away from the trellis.  The Door Warden had told Elrond that Anomen had returned to the Hall without every having left it, and Elrond, familiar with the trellis from the exploits of Elladan and Elrohir, had gently suggested that the door was a more appropriate way to enter and exit the Hall.

            The routine was at last broken in a most unexpected way by the arrival of an ambassador from Lothlórien.  Anomen did not know of this visitor, for he was in the library with Elladan, Elrohir, and Erestor, but he was soon to be dramatically affected by the news that this Elf had brought with him from Lórien.

            "Mae govannen," said Elrond as the ambassador was ushered into his chamber.  "Are the Lord and Lady well?"

            "Yes, Lord Elrond."

            "And all is well in Lothlórien?"

            "Yes, my Lord, although unfortunately the same cannot be said of Greenwood."

            "What has befallen that land?" asked Elrond, a look of concern upon his face.

            "'Tis very tragic, my Lord.  On my last mission to that land, all were talking about the loss to spiders of the king's only son and heir, a little elfling named Legolas.  The folk spoke with sorrow of the departed elfling, who, with his golden hair and blue eyes, had looked much like his mother.  It is not certain, however, that the king was as fond of his son as his subjects were, for he seemed unaffected by his disappearance."

            "His disappearance, you say.  Was his body found?"

            "No.  As I said, he was taken by spiders."

            "Golden hair and blue eyes?"

            "Aye, my Lord."

            "Will you excuse me a moment?"

            "Of course, Lord Elrond."

            Elrond went into his antechamber, where Glorfindel sat awaiting an opportunity to speak with him.

            "Glorfindel," Elrond said quietly, "I have a task needs doing."

            "Of course, Elrond."

            "Take Anomen on a journey to Eregion.  Do not come back for at least a fortnight."

            "What!"

            "Glorfindel, just take the elfling and hasten away.  And see that he keeps his hood up until you are well away from Rivendell."

            "His hood up?—ah, I see."  The truth dawned on Glorfindel.  "The emissary from Lothlórien may know the identity of our little elf, is that not so?"

            "Yes," said Elrond impatiently.  "Now take him and go!"

            Glorfindel was offended.  It was true that Elrond was the Lord of Imladris, but he did not usually order Glorfindel about, for the balrog-slayer was his friend as well as his seneschal.  As Glorfindel strode toward the library where Anomen sat at lessons with Elladan and Elrohir, he was in a foul temper.

            "You there, you denizen of Greenwood," Glorfindel said brusquely as he burst into the library.  "You are to leave at once." The balrog-slayer took hold of the elfling's arm and pulled him to his feet.

            "Here now!" spluttered Erestor indignantly.  "He can't go in the middle of a lesson.  He hasn't mastered the future-perfect progressive of the verb 'to battle' in Common Speech!"

            "It is Elrond's command that he depart without delay."

            The twins began to clamor.  "Where is he going!?  Where are you taking him!?"

            "Enough of your noise," growled Glorfindel.  "I will take him where I have been commanded to take him.  It is not your business to know more than that."

            Still gripping Anomen's arm, Glorfindel hurried the elfling from the chamber.  Anomen himself had said nothing, so taken aback was he by the sudden news that he was to leave Rivendell.  What had he done?  Had his behavior been so bad?  He had tried to do what he was told.  Was Elrond angry because at first he hadn't come to the table for meals?  Had the indignant Door Warden reported that he had run in and out of the hall without stopping at his command?  Had the furious Head Cook insisted that he be banished?  Was he being cast out because he had tried to steal bread from Glorfindel's tray?  Certainly the balrog-slayer looked very angry.  Ai! That must be it.  He had offended Lord Glorfindel.

            In silence Glorfindel and Anomen departed Rivendell, the elfling perched before the elf-lord on his great stallion.  Glorfindel urged the horse on steadily until they came to Eregion.  There he stopped at the first likely campsite and lowered Anomen to the ground.  He had seen signs of deer and meant to bag one.  They would have fresh venison that night and could smoke and dry the rest so that no further hunting would be required during their stay in Eregion.  Glorfindel had decided to make the best of matters and use as much of the time as possible to intensively train Anomen in the use of sword.  (The elfling had already advanced beyond Elladan and Elrohir in the use of the bow.)  Unfortunately, Glorfindel did not explain this plan to Anomen—Glorfindel rarely felt the need to explain anything to anyone.

            "You stay here," he growled to the elfling who was looking up at him woefully.  Anomen nodded without saying a word. 

            To while away the lonely hours in Greenwood, Anomen had read many folktales that had been recited by Men, stories cherished by the antiquarians among his people, who found them quaint, although primitive.  In so many of them a grown-up, wishing to be rid of a troublesome child, leads the young one to an unfamiliar place and abandons him.  Thus Anomen had known all along that Glorfindel was going to take him into an unfamiliar place, far from Rivendell, and leave him.  He was glad that he had had the presence of mind to bring his bow and quiver so that he had at least a little hope of fending for himself.  Well, he'd better be on his way.  Maybe he could find the path to the fabled land of the Periannath.  They didn't sound like scary creatures.  Maybe they would let him stay.  He would have to go west, then, if he recalled Erestor's maps correctly.

            Glorfindel was in a cheerful frame of mind as he led his laden horse back to the clearing.  He had bagged his deer and was anticipating that night's feast of fresh venison.  Image his dismay when he arrived back at campsite and saw no sign of Anomen.

            "'The elfling from Mordor', that's what his name should be," grumbled the balrog-slayer.  "Here I was looking forward to setting up camp and getting a good night's sleep before commencing training in the morning.  Instead, I've got to go off in pursuit of that scamp."

            At least Anomen was easy to track.  Since he thought Glorfindel had brought him to the forest to abandon him, he had not bothered to cover his trail.  It really did not take Glorfindel very long to catch up with the elfling.

            "Here you are, you rascal.  Thought you could escape me, eh!  Well, you'll soon find that no one gets away from the balrog-slayer!"

            Anomen looked at Glorfindel with big eyes.  In some stories the child was led into the forest and abandoned, but in others the evil step-parent would order a servant to slay the child and bring his heart back to prove that the deed had been done.  Well, he wasn't going to die easily!  Swiftly the elfling drew an arrow and nocked it.

            Glorfindel gazed at him in astonishment.

            "Lower that bow at once!  You are violating the first safety rule of the archer, which is to never point a nocked arrow at another!"

            "I will not be slain without a fight!  You may take my heart back to Rivendell, but I'll make you pay dearly for it!"

            "What are you talking about!?" exclaimed the exasperated balrog-slayer.  "If you don't put that bow down, I'll skin you!"

            Thoroughly unnerved, Anomen's hands began to tremble, and he burst into tears.

            "Oh," he sobbed, "please slay me first!"

            "What!?"

            "Oh, please, please, don't skin me whilst I'm still alive!"

            Very carefully, Glorfindel stepped back from the distraught elfling.

            "Anomen," he said gently, "I am going to draw my blade and lay it on the ground—and my sword as well.  And now I'm putting down my bow."  Glorfindel took another step back and held out his hands, palm upward.

            "If you like, you may throw my weapons into the bushes—of course, if you do, I won't have anything with which to skin the deer over yonder that I felled for our supper."

            "You went to hunt deer?"

            "Aye, but when I returned to the clearing, you were gone.  I thought you had wandered off and gotten lost.  I knew that Elrond would be very angry if I did not return you safely to Imladris, and so I went off in search of you."

            "You will return me to Rivendell?"

            "Yes.  Elrond told me to take you to Eregion for a fortnight only."

            "But why did I have to leave Rivendell in the first place?"

            "That I do not know myself, young one.  Elrond received an ambassador from Lothlórien.  After talking briefly with him, Elrond stepped into the antechamber and ordered me to immediately take you to Eregion.  One more thing I can tell you: Elrond commanded me to make sure that your hood remained up until you were well away from Imladris.  I am sure you can tell me what that means."

            Anomen considered briefly.  "That he didn't want me to be seen?"

            "And?" prompted Glorfindel.

            "Someone might have recognized me?"

            "Go on."

            "He was trying to protect me by sending me away from someone who might have recognized me?"

            "Excellent reasoning for one so young—but one more thing, Anomen."

            "Yes, Lord Glorfindel?"

            "Your arrow is still nocked and pointed at me."

            Anomen blushed and lowered his bow.

            Glorfindel sighed in relief.  "Thank you.  Your bow is small, but it could still do some damage.  Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to pick up my knife and skin this deer."

            "May I help, Lord Glorfindel?"

            "Yes.  You may gather fuel for the fire, and when you have done that, take the kettle and fill it with water.  There is a stream over yonder."

            "Yes, Lord Glorfindel."

            After they had eaten and tidied up their camp, Glorfindel decided that it was time to ask Anomen to explain why he had thought that the elf-lord wished to take the elfling's heart back to Rivendell.

            "Whatever gave you such a notion, Anomen?"

            "It's in all the books," said the elfling solemnly.

            "In all the books?"

            "Well," conceded Anomen, "maybe not _all the books.  But in many of them!"_

            "What books are these?"

            "The tales of Men.  Children are forever being abandoned in forests.  If they are not being abandoned, their hearts are being cut out and brought back to their evil step-parents."

            Ah, so that was what this was about.

            "Anomen," said Glorfindel, "first of all, those are tales of Men not Elves.  Secondly, such stories are 'fiction'.  Do you know the difference between fact and fiction?"

            "No," admitted Anomen.

            "Fact is what is real.  When Erestor sets you to reading the history of the Last Alliance, that is real.  But fiction is made up—it is a sort of lying, although an innocent sort—sometimes even a helpful sort, for it lets us explore matters of importance."

            Glorfindel could see that the last statement had gone over Anomen's head.  Better to stick to more concrete matters.

"Anomen, you don't believe that mermaids dwell in lakes, do you?"

"Oh, no!"

"And you don't believe that Men turn into werewolves—except figuratively, that is?"

"What?"

"Ignore the last phrase.  You don't believe that Men turn into werewolves when the moon is full.

"No."

"And you don't believe that mandrake roots are little manlike creatures that screech when you pull them out of the soil?"

Anomen shook his head vehemently.  What nonsense!  Everyone knew that was only a story.

"You don't believe in griffins either, I'll warrant, or hippogriffs.

"Of course not!"

"Or gnomes or pixies?"

"No!  Such creatures are imaginary!"

"You don't believe that there is such a thing as 'house elves' who are held in thrall by wizards?"

Indignant, Anomen shook his head.  The very idea!

"In the forest you have never come across a unicorn whose blood can keep one alive even if one is on the verge of dying.  Nor have you encountered a phoenix that periodically bursts into flame and then is reborn from the ashes."

Anomen laughed.

And you've never seen a basilisk whose very glance can turn you into stone."

"No," said Anomen.  "But," he added, "if I had, I shouldn't be able to tell."

"How's that?"

"I would have been turned to stone!"

Glorfindel waved off that objection.

"Anomen, the only creatures that have ever been turned to stone are Trolls who were petrified when they are foolish enough to stay up past dawn.  Hasn't Erestor devoted any time at all to the subject of Natural History!?

"He has, but we haven't reached Trolls yet.  They are at the end of the book, in the appendix, and Erestor says we will only cover them if we have time.  He has a list of subjects that _must_ be covered, and Trolls are not on them."

"Hmmph!" snorted Glorfindel.  "Whoever drew up that list is a fool—probably done up by some council of pedants, I'll wager.  But never mind.  Anomen, you must firmly plant your feet in the world of reality, in the world of Middle Earth, home to Elves, Men, and Dwarfs.  All of that other rubbish is nothing more than hogwash, and folks will think you potty if you profess to believe in it!"

"Yes, Lord Glorfindel," said Anomen meekly.

            Later that night, as Anomen slept, Glorfindel sat gazing at the elfling and musing over the peculiar events of the past days.  Elrond had wanted to hide Anomen from the Lothlórien ambassador even though Anomen so obviously haled from Greenwood, not Lórien.  Of course, there was much coming and going between Lothlórien and Greenwood, and Elrond obviously feared that if Anomen were recognized by someone from the Lord and Lady's realm, then the news would quickly travel back to Greenwood.  But who could Anomen be that a Lórien Elf would be likely to recognize him?  Someone important, perhaps, or the son of someone important?

            Glorfindel leaned back against his pack and let his memories wander.  As Elrond's seneschal, he had had occasion once every few centuries to visit Thranduil's realm.  He wouldn't have deigned to take notice of the elflings who, awe-struck, would have hidden in corners and behind doors for a glimpse of the fabled balrog-slayer—he did have his dignity to think of, after all!—but had he met any grown Elves who resembled Anomen?

            Glorfindel suddenly sat bolt upright.  "Manwe!" he exclaimed, and then he quickly glanced toward Anomen, hoping he hadn't startled him.  The elfling still slept.  "So, Elrond," Glorfindel chuckled to himself, "now I understand why you were so eager for me to spirit our little guest out of Rivendell.  There would be Mordor to pay if word of this ever got back to Greenwood.  But what's your game, my friend?  In all the millennia I have known you, you've never taken an elfling hostage.  Anyway, he's no good as a hostage unless it's known that you possess him—and apparently you don't want it known.  Well, I shall bide my time until you choose to show your hand."

One other matter puzzled the balrog-slayer.  Why had Anomen been so sure that Glorfindel would abandon or harm him?  He was not convinced that it was merely because Anomen had read the fairy-tales of Men.  He wouldn't have taken those tales so seriously unless something had happened to make that elfling mistrustful of others.  Whatever could that have been?  Glorfindel sighed.  One thing was certain: he would bring that matter up with Elrond as soon as he returned to Imladris.  That much he thought he could safely do.  On that note, the balrog-slayer turned in for the night.

The remainder of their time in Eregion passed uneventfully.  Glorfindel tried not to be so gruff with the young one, although, for all the elf-lord's efforts, the elfling remained undeniably skittish.  It was with great relief that, the fortnight over, Glorfindel deposited his charge before the door of Elrond's Hall.

            Several weeks later Mithrandir returned to Imladris, much to the delight of all, including, of course, Anomen's but not excepting Elrond, who was eager to get the wizard aside for a little chat.  First, though, the Lord of Imladris would have to wait until the conclusion of certain impromptu festivities.  In honor of Mithrandir's arrival, the elflings were allowed to sit up long into the night to allow the wizard to regale them with tales of his adventures.

            "And then I said to the Dwarf, 'You are very much mistaken if you think I've come for your treasure.  Mithril and gold have no power over me'.  Of course, the Dwarf didn't believe me and continued to brandish his axe."

            "Oooooh," breathed the elflings.  "What did you do, 'thrandir?" cried Arwen.  "Did you use your staff to cast a spell on the wicked, wicked Dwarf!"

            "First of all, he was _not_ a 'wicked' Dwarf, just a frightened one, and, yes, I did make use of my staff.  I rapped him smartly on his head to knock some sense into that skull of his!"

            The elflings were disappointed.  A spell would have been more, well, _spellbinding_.

            Mithrandir laughed at their crestfallen faces.  "I did cast a spell upon a band of thieves I encountered.  There were too many of them for me to have any hope of knocking their blocks, so I turned them into blocks instead."

            "Aaaaaah!" gasped the elflings in unison.  This was much better.

            "Mind you, it was a spell of limited duration.  At sundown they would have turned back into flesh and bone—although," added the wizard thoughtfully, "as this was an area riddled by Trolls, I may not have been doing them much of a favor."

            Elrond decided that the time had come for the elflings to be sent to bed.

            "Mithrandir will still be here in the morning," he consoled the elflings.  "I am sure you will be able to prevail upon him to tell you some more tales before he once again departs Rivendell."

            As soon the elflings were safely out of the way, Elrond invited Mithrandir to share a glass of wine in his chamber.

            "I would be delighted, my old friend," replied the wizard, although he rather expected that an interrogation would be the price of the beverage.

            In fact, Elrond planned no such interrogation.  He had some questions, surely, but he knew he would have to be careful about how he went about asking them.  Mindful of how the elfling had been treated, he was not anxious to return him to the Elf who was, he suspected, Anomen's father.  He wished to confirm his suspicions, but not openly, for then he would have no choice but to send a message to Greenwood.

            After pouring a glass of wine for the Istar, the Lord of Imladris began with small talk.

            "This wine we are drinking has but lately arrived from Greenwood."

            "Ah," replied the wizard, "I thought it had the bouquet of an excellent Dorwinion—let me guess, laid down sometime in the Second Age."

            "Indeed, you are correct," said Elrond gravely.  "This wine," he added, "is not the only thing that has lately arrived from Greenwood."  Elrond thought that Mithrandir looked a trifle uneasy at his words, but it was hard to tell, so quickly did the wizard master his face.

            "Oh, is that so, Elrond?"

            "Lately, from Greenwood has arrived—news."

            Almost imperceptibly, Mithrandir relaxed.  "News.  How interesting."

            "Yes, the ambassador who recently visited told me that King Thranduil has suffered the loss of his only son and heir."

            "A pity, that," said the Istar blandly.

            "Yes, a pity.  The elfling, I am told, much resembled his mother."

            "Did he?  How very curious," said Mithrandir dryly.

            "Yes.  Golden hair.  Blue eyes."

            "Striking combination."

            "Yes, striking.  Odd coincidence, isn't it, that a blue-eyed, golden-haired elfling should vanish from Greenwood—did you know his body was never found?—just at the moment that a blue-eyed, golden-haired elfling should materialize in Imladris."

            "A truly remarkable coincidence," agreed the Istar.  "In fact, it is so remarkable a coincidence that I will throw in my lot with the likes of Galadriel, who finds significance in the fall of a sparrow.  There must be some meaning behind this coincidence; oh, yes, I am sure it must portend something.  However, what the future holds for this elfling, we can only guess, so I suggest this course of action:  keep him secret; keep him safe.  Matters will become clearer later, I am sure."

            This advice was, of course, just what Elrond had been hoping to hear.  He knew now with certainty who the elfling was, but he had been encouraged—nay, well nigh commanded—to harbor him for the time being.

            "I thank you for your advice, my old friend," the elf-lord said gravely.  "I thank you with all my heart."

            Mithrandir nodded, equally grave.

            And so the conspiracy began.

**That's it for this episode.  I will now begin work on the tale featuring Thranduil.  It probably won't be posted for several days, as I have absolutely nothing written on Thranduil ready to hand.  Stay well.**


End file.
